


Family Ties

by via_ostiense



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-23
Updated: 2003-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:48:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/via_ostiense/pseuds/via_ostiense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rule one: Dress matters. As do first impressions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Ties

Rule one: Dress matters. As do first impressions.

Draco woke promptly at 8 each morning. After a light tray of toast and tea in bed, he selected his outfit for the day. Servants brought forth various ties, robes, and shirts for his appraisal as he demanded the fall '95 Kenneth Troll casual robe and the Gladrags trousers from their '96 line. Shedding his silk dressing robe, he stood in front of his mirror, adjusting his tie, smoothing his hair, twitching his robes so that they draped just so.

 

Rule two: Illusions. Control.

"Mr Bagshot, I'm afraid that your request is," he paused, "unreasonable." It wasn't, but Lucius had instructed him never to allow anyone to know the full value of an offer. So Draco held to that dictum and pretended that this discussion meant nothing. The Malfoys were a highly respected family in wizarding society and one of the oldest pureblood clans. While everyone knew that they were extremely unlikely to rescue one of their own who had brought shame upon the family name, they also knew that they were equally likely to take care of their own affairs. It was thought to be an outdated and outmoded tradition, but the ancient pureblood families dispensed justice among their own and allowed no one not of their blood to interfere. So Draco sat back into his chair and allowed Bagshot to think that he merely wanted to carry out the penalty for treachery, execution on an arcane point of honor.

"But, Mr Malfoy, security measures at Azkaban are quite stringent," the man whined. A minor lackey of Voldemort's, and useful for his connections in the Ministry, but little else. He babbled, demanding money and safeguards in exchange for a short break in the prison's wards. Draco merely gazed at the man, allowing Bagshot's voice to drone on until he judged that the man had rambled on for long enough. He leaned forward and coolly interrupted.

"Mr Bagshot, the wards will be dropped, as requested. And you will be compensated. The Malfoys take care of their own." A pause. "As does the Dark Lord," and he held the man's eyes, making sure he understood the full import of his statement.

 

Rule three: Debts must be paid.

Draco strode down the torchlit corridor, an escort at his side. The over-muscled wizard was more to ensure that the big, bad Malfoy behaved himself than for his protection, he thought. He arrived at his father's cell expecting the worst, and he saw it in a moment of silent scrutiny. His father was filthy and clothed in rags, the blond hair greasy and dirty, but the man still carried himself with cool dignity. His eyes were hooded and faintly contemptuous of all that they beheld in the dank, squalid room, including his son. Draco felt a momentary spurt of anger and he was tempted to leave Lucius rotting in the cell, rotting until his body grew mold and fell to pieces to join the sludge underfoot. But the moment for departure passed when he felt the wards on Lucius' cell flicker and die, and the ox of a security wizard gaped, fumbling for his wand and assuring Mr Malfoy of his safety. Draco pulled out his own wand from his robes and intoned, "Avada Kedavra," watching the sudden flare of fear in Lucius' eyes with satisfaction.

When the green light faded, Draco reached deep into the folds of his clothing and passed another wand to Lucius. It was blackened ash filigreed with silver, one of the spares that the elder Malfoy kept against the snapping of his usual wand.

"All the wards on the island will be down for the next 15 minutes, father."

"How much?" Malfoys reckoned their debts immediately, understanding the relationship between owing and power.

"Enough." Draco knew this, and intended to keep his hold over his father as long as possible. He was not inclined to giving up his power and drifting into the shadows now that the elder Malfoy was returning to the world. His father's eyes narrowed briefly before he bowed—mockingly, Draco thought—and, with a loud crack, Disapparated. A moment later, the son followed suit.


End file.
